


The Ark

by Pimento



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Angels as Slaves, Angst, Caring John Winchester, Caring Mary Winchester, Caring Sam Winchester, Destiel - Freeform, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Happy Ending, Hurt Castiel, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, One Shot, Past Abuse, Profound Bond, SCIFI AU, Separations, angels as pets, deancas-sweetheart, deancas_sweetheart, emotional hurt Dean Winchester, reunion is so sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-10
Updated: 2017-02-10
Packaged: 2018-09-20 19:02:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9507818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pimento/pseuds/Pimento
Summary: It's the word that makes us all melt: sweetheart.  And it's even better when Dean is saying it to Cas.AU written for theHey, Sweetheart Challenge 2017Story SummaryThe Ark, a triple class interstellar craft, offering the opportunity to travel between colonies regardless of Tier Status......and the last place left to look...





	

“They make fine pets,” the old woman crooned as she approached the two men stood in her store. Her fingers were grained with dirt. She smelt. It was not exactly unpleasant, even though it was clear she did not wash, it was an earthy odour. It matched her surroundings.

She checked out their clothing. Expert eyes, evaluating them and their worth. A boy nearing manhood, he would be a handsome adult. Tunic, and leg braids. Soft leather boots, well worn. The father similarly clad, draped with a naval cloak, dark and brooding. They were middle deckers. It was improbable that they could afford such an extravagance. 

The lad had not spoken a word, gaining his father’s attention with a subtle touch of his hand, as he paused by the holding pens. The lad’s father stared at his son’s enraptured face. He smiled fondly and ruffled his hand through the unruly dirty blonde hair. It was a gesture normally reserved for a much younger child. Maybe there was a deal to be made after all: The lad was clearly beloved, the father would probably give just about anything to please this precious defective offspring. And the lad’s whole being was focussed on the hooded, cowering figure in her cages. She moistened her lips in anticipation of making a sale. She would be glad to be rid of this one. It was… troublesome. 

The son flinched as she pushed an arm through the bars and began running her yellowing nails through the iridescence of the black feathers. His brow knotted with an intensity that grabbed her attention. She began to calculate just how much she could wring from this man using his devotion to his son.

Even dirty and tarnished as this creature was, the promise of its colouring was bright. It was way too thin, but she had on occasion had to resort to a feeding tube, because it refused to eat. It also looked forlorn and lost, tilting its hooded head, and shrinking against the back of the wrought iron of the cage away from her touch. The wings were sensitive she had been told. It had certainly never liked her touching them. It was almost a better punishment than the switchy little birch she routinely used. It’s skin was marked and reddened, especially where the leather bindings sat against it at neck, wrists and ankles. It looked a sorry specimen to be truthful, bruises standing proud against unnaturally pale skin, as if it had not seen the sunlight for sometime. But then sunlight lamps were expensive within the confines of an interplanetary ship, and she did not waste them on anything so undeserving.

“It’s been clipped, and trained,” her voice continued. The creature flinched away from her touch, fluffing it’s wings as she finally removed her hand. Still, even now, it struggled to hide that little stubborn chink of defiance. Without that hood, it would turn its eyes on her and reduce her to ash, she had no doubt. She wondered whether this man knew much about keeping them subdued. Not her problem. She did not care if it burned an entire sector, so long as she had made her profit.

“It looks damaged.” The father noted dryly. “Sickly.”

“No,” she said, a little defensively. “The wing feathers soon grow back, it’s only where the flight feathers have been clipped to keep it grounded. And it’s a submissive thing despite it’s size. No aggression or defiance.” She thrust her hand back into the edge of the cage, and tugged at the brown hair at the nape of it’s neck by way of proof. It stilled instantly, it was a trick she had been taught by one of the keepers. Few people had ever seen one, let alone knew and understood how to keep them. Seizing the nape was a mating gesture, and it terrified this one like nothing else could… she cackled inwardly.

When she had first obtained it as a youngling, she had thought it such a prize. The slavers had originally offered her two, a child and this, and she was expecting to turn a massive profit… she had used their negligence in letting the child escape to beat down the price still lower but her greed had not been rewarded… The slavers were smarter than she had thought, it was nothing but hard work and trouble, taking years to subdue. The easy profit of selling it while it was still cute and cherubic had long passed. It had fought her at every turn, every lesson. She had sold it once, to a wealthy family from the upper decks. They wanted it as a distraction for their daughter. Only to have them return it, as even though it had not harmed the child, it had bitten the servant sent in to feed it and when the girl's father raised his hand to punish it, it had squared up to him. They had threatened all sorts of retribution, as the child was heart-broken to lose her beautiful pet. She had had to pay handsomely to soothe them. Not to mention the loss of goodwill and a lucrative connection. She had taken her revenge, one strike for every gold coin it had cost her. Her only regret about the beating she had given it was that it had taken months to heal. Months where no sale was possible, because she had had to cover the cage to hide it from prying eyes.

The father laid a steadying hand on his son’s shoulder, sensing the tension in his young body. “How much?” He tried to keep his voice casual.

Her greasy broken lips parted, and a pointed tongue touched her blackened teeth as she unconsciously rubbed her fingers at the prospect of the sale. Full grown they were not so highly prized and it was already reaching that point. Long limbed and lithe, it was almost as tall as the man and his son, although cowered in this cage it looked so much smaller.. She would certainly never deal in them again, not alive anyway. “500 coins,” she said.

The father shook his head. “It’s not worth half that.”

She scowled at him, and then in a very deliberate act, she gripped his sons chin and turned his face. “Such a handsome young man. It’s worth that to you, isn’t it my fine young gent?”

The father stiffened, but his son merely stared past her arm, his whole attention focused on the creature in the cage. It was trembling slightly, using its wings to cover itself. “200,” the man countered, shifting his cape aside and showing the knife hung at his belt. Her eyes flared as she recognised the distinctive silver hilt. He was law.

The woman, still held firm on the lads chin, as she scoffed at him. “200? That would barely cover my costs.”

The father gave her a suddenly nasty smile, his voice lowered. “Nevertheless, you will take 200, and you will remove your filthy hands from my son, or I will return in less than an hour with a warrant and a dozen officers, and we will take your emporium apart. Do you even have a licence to sell live beings?”

Her eyes were black gimlets, as she glowered at him. She flicked a nervous glance at his face, trying to read whether he was bluffing, the trade was strictly regulated, but down here on the lower decks... there were bigger things to occupy the authorities. She withdrew her hand from the lads softly stubbled chin, as if scalded, and shrugged. “Ah, a Protector. You should had said so, sir. A protector is always guaranteed a good discount. We are agreed. 200 it is.” 

She drew the father aside towards her payment table, and he reached for his money pouch to count out the coin. She gave a subtle nod, and two equally dirty looking men appeared, one with a large bunch of keys. The cage was opened and a leash produced. The creature resisted briefly, as it was pulled forward, and was rewarded with a heavy shove that pushed it almost sprawling out of the cage.

The young man glared briefly at the man, but took the proffered leash and with a nod from his father, walked swiftly into the crowds pulling his new pet with him.

Three streets away, someone suddenly snatched the leash from his hand. He spun as the momentum of the pull twisted him and cannoned into a trolley, tripping and spilling a load of pots, pans and plates with a cacophony of noise and protests from the stall holder. A money barrel overturned and the street was full of people grabbing at the precious metal discs as they rolled and cascaded across the cobbles.

By the time the men following the lad had fought their way through the fracas, there was no trace of the either him or his new pet.

He diligently followed his father’s exhaustive instructions, not rushing despite wanting desperately to get home. He doubled back, took twist after turn, visited shops and made purchases, working his way through the maze of streets and narrow alleys. He was getting hungry. In another hour the curfew would sound. He took one last look around and, certain that he had not been followed, he slipped down the alley way and into a dark door recess. He entered quietly and removed his boots. His father was sitting at the table, eating a bowl of broth. His mother turned from the stove and filled two more bowls with the rich smelling brew. She looked at him and her eyes filled with tears. He felt his mouth twitch and swallowed, giving her his best brave smile.

“Your brother has done his best,” his father said gently, “but he’s confused and frightened. Very frightened. Be gentle son. It’s been twelve years, it may take him a while to remember. We thought your room was best.”

He nodded silently and taking the tray holding the two bowls and a chunk of bread, he headed for his room. His parents exchanged an anxious glance.

He tapped gently on his own bedroom door. His brother was sat cross legged on the floor, a huge bowl of warm water and a pile of soft cloth torn into strips in front of him on the floor. He was gently holding one pale foot, washing away dirt and cleaning angry looking red weals, patiently smearing them with ointment from a large pot and wrapping the strips of bandage around them. The leg attached to the foot disappeared under the mound of blankets on the bedroll.

He placed the tray on his own low side table and, heart in his mouth, he reached forward. Removing the uppermost of the blankets; he began the task of gently unbuckling the hood. Seeing the flinch as his fingers grazed the skin his heart shattered and he spoke, his throat painful with the unfamiliar vibration. His voice soft, vocal chords crackling from lack of use. “It’s OK. It’s me. I got you. We found you, you’re safe now. I promise. I’m so sorry,” his voice broke, but he ignored the tears on his own cheeks and continued carefully undoing the knots in the lacing. Despite longing to rip the damn thing off, he worked at it patiently, aware that this was going to be overwhelming and intense. “I’m sorry it took me so long. They hid you. We couldn’t find you… we looked everywhere…The Ark was our last hope of finding you...”

The hood slid away and he threw it across the room; It hit the wall and dropped to the floor with a subtle thud. He would burn it later, or slash it into a thousand pieces, focusing his anger into the leather. He stared at the face he had revealed and fought the urge to smooth the rough tousled hair that framed it. His stomach knotted with anger at the bruises and the cut to the lip. He stared at eyelids that remained screwed shut. The dark head shook slightly from side to side. Arms, far too thin, peppered with scars and bruises, automatically struck a defensive pose, hugging shoulders and ribs bony with undernourishment. It made him so angry that he wanted to run back to the emporium and punch the old bitch til she bled black.

He reached forward and gently, oh so gently let his fingers graze a very familiar cheek, "Sweetheart?" The pet name had not passed his lips since they had last seen each other. Snatched, as they played in the park on their homeworld, waking frightened and curled together as they were loaded onto the transport ship. His angel using his grace to set him loose, not enough power as a youngling to free them both. "I'll come back for you, Sweetheart. I promise." The last words he had spoken, the guilt and the trauma as their connection was broken, stealing his voice. 

He gave a little sob, as finally, finally the eyes slid open and for the first time in over a decade, green met blue. For a moment nothing moved, the entire world stilled and condensed into two pairs of irises. The permanent background drone of the powerful engines that were propelling The Ark through the vastness of the galaxy, the humdrum sounds of a million people in such close containment that always seemed to mumble through the walls, even the sounds of their own breathing were smothered as the bubble of silent connection enclosed them. And then it began, slowly, with care, one shaking weakened hand raised painfully slowly. Features, which had become expressionless as hope had dwindled, the blankness, hard learnt with repeated beatings, began inexorably to melt away. 

The brother watched, his own face damp, as the two reconnected. The angel’s fingers finally closed over his brother’s calloused hand and then the angel’s head dipped into the comfort of the contact. Rubbing his cheek, in a curiously cat like gesture, against the hand, the blankets fell away. Black wings quivered and stretched outward. They began shining, reflecting a growing soft blue, as the two figures were softly enveloped in light. Within a few minutes it began to light the whole dingy room with blue ripples and the brother was glad they had waited until they were in the dark safety of their home before they had removed that loathsome hood and the fetters. It had been so hard to wait for his brother when he had so wanted to free his friend, but only his brother could contain and channel the angel's grace into harmless light and connection. And after it had taken them so long to retrieve him, the last thing they wanted was to lose him again, for want of a little patience.

He stood quietly, preparing to sneak away and give them privacy. Suddenly he basked in warmth and gasped a breath, a spike of grace touched his arm. He cried with the sensation. Gratitude and love filled his soul and he gave a low sigh as it withdrew returning its focus to the kneeling figure of his brother. 

“You’re welcome, Cas. I’m glad to see you, too.” He shut the door softly behind him and joined his parents in the kitchen.

“He spoke,” he said softly, his soft eyes huge and glistening. “He used his voice.” The enormity of it hit him hard. For the first time since this nightmare began his brother had spoken. The echo of the grace’s touch warmed him like the soft reminder burn of the swallowed liquor his mother gave him when he was ill, warm and comforting. They were all going to be OK. The horror of the past twelve years was over. His brother and his angel were whole again. “They are both OK. Everything... it’s going to be alright again. We've got them both back.”

His father wiped a heavy hand over his stubbled face, and his mother gripped his father’s shoulder so tight her knuckles gleamed in the artificial lights. The burly figure seemed to lose all its tension: leaving their comfortable life on the homeworld, years and years of dragging the family from ship to ship, using Protector connections to search the dirtiest and darkest of underworld trades and connections, suddenly it was over and it had all been worth it. His mother dropped forward, her arms circling his neck, kissing his father's dark hair, as he made a strange noise, which the boy realised was actually a little sob. For the first time in his life he saw his father cry.


End file.
